


The Gift of the M.A.G.I. Affair

by laughingacademy



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-04
Updated: 2009-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingacademy/pseuds/laughingacademy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York in the snow, books, borscht, and Napoleon -- these are a few of Illya's favorite things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of the M.A.G.I. Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gilda_elise](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gilda_elise).



Illya emerged from a warm, bibliophilic haze when the lights blinked off and on, and he heard a boy calling, "Closing in fifteen minutes!" over the lulling hiss of the radiators. He reshelved the book he'd been leafing through, donned his coat, and began threading the labyrinth of tall, narrow aisles towards the exit, trading nods with some of the other customers and a couple of clerks on the way (he had started frequenting the Strand when it was part of Book Row on Fourth Avenue, and when it had moved to its current location on Broadway and Twelfth Street he had followed). Fortunately, he'd paid for Napoleon's present upstairs in the rare books section, so he was able to avoid the rapidly growing line for the cashiers and go directly to the coat and bag check. After reclaiming his package and making sure its wrappings were undisturbed, he pulled on his gloves and hat and stepped outside.

Snow was falling when Illya emerged onto Broadway. He turned left on Twelfth and began making his way southeast. Most of the shops along the way were already closed, and there were few other pedestrians. Illya listened to his footsteps shift between the soft squeak and crunch of new fallen snow to the grit of salt, with an occasional crackle as his weight broke the thin rim of ice which had formed in places. Periodically, all of those sounds were drowned out by the Dopplering shush of a passing car, although it seemed…yes, there was one maintaining a constant distance. Illya, without altering his pace, approached the nearest corner and then whipped around it, dropping his shopping bag and plunging his hand into the coat pocket that held his Special. The tailing vehicle pulled up to the curb, and the driver rolled down a tinted window.

"Happy to see me?"

Illya snorted and stooped to pick up his package. "I would have been happier five blocks ago, Napoleon."

"Where are you headed? Can I offer you a lift?"

"Thank you, but we're close enough to my destination that I would dirty your floor mats to no purpose. There is a diner on the corner of Second and Ninth, called Veselka, which serves Ukrainian food. Would you care to join me in a late supper? I could save you a seat while you find a parking space."

"Sounds good. See you there."

Within moments, Illya was sliding onto a tall stool and ordering. "Pierogi — three spinach and cheese, four mushroom and sausage; a bowl of borscht; and tea, please. Oh, make that two teas; a friend is joining me."

"Applesauce or sour cream?" rattled the waitress as she set out two glasses.

"Sour cream."

Soon afterward, Napoleon was just inside the door, brushing snow off his coat and fedora before joining his partner at the counter and taking a swig of tea. "Cozy little place. So, what's this I hear about you gunning for someone in Documents?"

"From now on, I am choosing my own aliases," Illya grumbled, handing over what appeared to be a New Jersey driver's license.

Napoleon squinted at it. "'Ilya' — one L — 'Oblomov.'"

"That is actually the more common Anglicization. It is the surname that makes me wonder if someone is trying to be cute or insulting." Before he could continue, the waitress approached, pad at the ready. "Would you like a burger? They're very good here. Or are you feeling adventurous?"

"Feel free to expand my horizons."

"Some bigos, then."

"Side?" asked the waitress.

Illya thought it over. "The beet salad."

Napoleon watched the waitress sashay towards the kitchen before saying, "May I ask?"

"It's stew. Kielbasa, pork, sauerkraut, and onions. The salad will have horseradish."

"Sounds…pungent. So, who was this Oblomov character?"

"Character is exactly the word. He is the protagonist of a novel, a member of the landed gentry whose lack of energy and direction ruin his life. He is famous for spending the first one hundred and fifty pages of the book in bed." Pause. "Not like that."

"I would certainly never describe you as lazy or aimless, in or out of bed," Napoleon commented sotto voce. Waiting until Illya had finished rolling his eyes, he continued, "How likely is it that someone would recognize the name?"

"Knowing my luck, I'd run into the one member of THRUSH who is a connoisseur of nineteenth-century Russian literature. Also, there is a word, _oblomovshchina_, that means 'slothful, defeatist.'"

"We can definitely find you a better pseudonym than that. Still, I suppose it could have been worse. At least they didn't try to saddle you with 'Romanov.'"

"Or 'Rasputin,'" Illya agreed, putting the card away.

"Well, you have proved surprisingly hard to kill," Napoleon said as the waitress reappeared with a full tray.

The conversation flagged as the two agents tackled their food, in Illya's case almost literally.

"'Sgood," Napoleon said, when he'd eaten all of his stew and half his salad. "Is this the sort of thing you ate, growing up?"

"Pretty close. The owners emigrated from the Ukraine after World War Two. Are you going to finish that?"

Napoleon pushed the plate over. "If you don't have other plans, how do feel about getting some dessert and taking it back to my place?"

"My place is closer."

"Mine is quieter. I remember the racket your radiators make. It was like trying to sleep through a Gene Krupe solo."

"Oh, is that what kept you up?"

Napoleon shrugged. "There may have been other factors at work."

Illya flagged down the waitress. "Two orders of kutya, to go." Before Napoleon could ask, he explained, "Pudding with fruit, walnuts, poppy seeds, and honey."

Tossing some bills on the counter, he stood and began pulling on his coat. "I'll go get the car while you wait for the food." Then, lower, "Sounds like something I'd enjoy eating off you."

He was gone before Illya could formulate an adequate response. Smug bastard.  


* * *

  
"Morning, Oblomov."

"I am going to regret telling you about that, aren't I," Illya groused, tightening the belt of his borrowed robe.

"As a present to you, I promise not to make that joke where anyone else can hear. Also, there's this," Napoleon said, waving his coffee mug at a box on the table in front of him.

Illya gave him a quick buss, stole his drink and downed the remainder of the coffee as he sat next to him on the couch. "_Spasiba._ Your present is in the bag by the front door. You can bring it when you fetch more coffee."

"Pushy Russian," he muttered, obediently reclaiming the empty mug. He returned with two steaming cups perched atop a brown paper package, to find Illya regarding his box. "You can go ahead and open it."

"You are not going to make me wait until Christmas morning?"

"My family had a tradition of letting everyone unwrap one gift on Christmas Eve. Actually, I'm not sure if it was a tradition or a clever tactic to keep the peace. Anyway, I want to open my box."

"In that case, on three?"

"One."

"Two."

Snap, rip, rustle…

Pause.

Napoleon broke the silence first. "_The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt._ Nice bindings."

_"Histoire de ma vie,"_ Illya read out loud, eyebrows rising, "Giacomo Casanova de Seingalt."

"The man at the shop said it's the first time anyone has published the entire manuscript in the original French."

"Well," Illya began, before they both succumbed to laughter.

(Perhaps they weren't the wisest of all who gave and received gifts that year, but in that moment they may well have been the merriest.)

**Author's Note:**

> The prompts were "Illya surprises Napoleon on his birthday / Napoleon and Illya have a fight / someone from one of their past." Um. Hope "Christmas" instead of "birthday" and a literary figure from a previous century count. Also, I thought I was going to write something action-packed, but instead it turned into a quiet story about food and literature. And I never did come up with a clever acronym for "magi."
> 
> The Strand Book Store is still open and appears to be thriving despite the rise of chain stores and online book dealers.
> 
> Veselka (which means "Rainbow") is still on the corner of Ninth and Second, and has since expanded into a large dining room on the same corner.
> 
> _Oblomov_ is by Ivan Goncharov. The novel, first published in 1859, was sufficiently well known for Lenin to cite the protagonist as a bad example in 1922.
> 
> Giacomo Girolamo Casanova de Seingalt is remembered today primarily as a sexual adventurer (there's a reason "casanova" is a synonym for womanizer), but he played many different parts over the years, including musician, astrologer, lawyer, soldier, diplomat, con artist — and spy.


End file.
